


til' the end

by HiddenEye



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Second Person, Post-Season/Series 06, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Things Shiro Says to Keith: I Love You, pre-kerberos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 04:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: There’s hope in him some can’t see; hidden underneath his striking fists and gritted teeth, they refuse themselves the benefit of overlooking someone with potential as he, only because he doesn’t have the height to backpack the strength some would worship on the big.





	til' the end

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS THE BEST SEASON AND WE’RE CELEBRATING FOR THE SHEITH HEL YE

 

_I will never give up on you._

He is there and he isn’t. He is what others whisper behind his back and he never is. The fates would have to align the positions of the stars for such meeting to exist between two points; this contradiction of a boy has set fireworks of wonders when faced head on, when poked with a stick.

He is good things embodied in a moulding onion skin made by jealousy. A cruelty given by mankind when they couldn’t carve things forbidden to them.

There’s hope in him some can’t see; hidden underneath his striking fists and gritted teeth, they refuse themselves the benefit of overlooking someone with potential as he, only because he doesn’t have the height to backpack the strength some would worship on the big.

They would grovel at your feet for such power but throw stones at him for mimicking the same. How pitiful; know that most gods enhance their story through time, and time makes them powerful now, later, more so than before. His is just at the beginning. You will watch his story in front row seats.

 

_It’s good to be back._

He doesn’t laugh with you when you stare back at his face, holding your new arm with the crisp air of dawn stinging your nostrils, the sun a welcoming warmth soaking into your veins. He doesn’t laugh at the hysterics that bubbles underneath your skin after a year worth of captivity, nor does he break the tight pressure in his brows when you carefully ease the jester off your tone.

He means what he says, visible in those violet eyes. There’s relief and a flicker of what reflected back in a bowl of water in the dark corner of the small cell, one that shouldn’t even be brought with the ship that crashed near his home — and yet it’s here, following the dark figure with silver hair and a scar that holds a warning for all children going to bed.

Beware, beware, the bogeyman is here.

 

 _How did you know to come save me?_  

It’s too good to be true, far too impossible to dream of in what horror that’s been fed into an unwilling mouth. A storm worth of questions whirls and whines underneath a heaving chest, the sound almost choking out through a throat that screams and shouts for victory to satisfy the monsters shrieking for death.

This throat that mutters forgiveness before going to sleep, to keep off the cries that threatens to seep through the cracks of control bricked and cemented with pure will. This throat who snarls at those who touch what’s not been deemed as theirs —they’re _stealing_ , they have no absolute right for such foul play— and roars through a pain so bright, the white light of the ceilings appear even in slumber.

He must have heard the phantom memories, must have seen the documentary lit up in your eyes when you try to shut it down. The hand he has on your shoulder tightens. You don’t know that is his first vow of vengeance for your life.

 

 _Patience yields focus._  

It has been used on a daily basis full of grit and blood and streaming saliva from jagged canines to the point of it losing its significance, its innocence. But, he’s here again, the same raw energy cackling in his raised shoulders and exploding sighs, in the way he roughly pushes his sweaty hair away from his eyes as he laments his supposed weak strength.

You want to laugh at him, but he wouldn’t appreciate such crude reaction of scathing empathy when he just wanted your reassurance, your input, your help. Just like old times, you think, because he keeps looking at you as if you gave him a reason to believe you were ever as great as they made it seem and you can’t help but be guilty of that.

You’re a lint in this universe, whose purpose has been twisted and tainted with the touches of the damned. Who are you to be looked in that kind of light? Who are you to be seen in such way when you have kill, kill, kill merely using your hands and feet?

You are not worthy. You help him because it’s for him. It has always been about him.

 

_We need you._

They do; the strangers that he have huddled under the title he wears. 

They do; the people that have stayed in the same castle with the rest have been considered more than just simple camaraderie. They are bond mates — _soulmates_ , the three of them would bray in utter delight— and they need him more than they ever thought.

This applies to you too, he reminds you subtly. By the small smile on his lips, by the hand on your shoulder.

It tickles you funny because the only other person you share a bond with is him.

 

_I’ve got you, buddy._

Through the times when the Garrison forgone him as a troublemaker with hopeless means of cure. Through the times when ‘hothead’ and ‘anger management’ are brands stamped for him by them.

Through exploding stars. Through Hell and Heaven.

 

_If I don’t make it out of here, I want you to lead Voltron._

If this is a time where kings still brought cheers and joy to their people, then you would have appointed him as your king; a king to a king, a best man in arms, a partner for life.

He is the perfection of a man with morals some would be envy of. He wields King Arthur’s sword and leads the fight with his command stretching through an army of honest men behind his back. He is a king with a crown who would not tarnish its gold with selfish means of power, he is a king whose metal armour and bright sigma would frighten every enemy the moment they hear his sighing cape and tinkling plates.

When he saves lives using the same metal beast you’ve bonded with, you knew. When the earth shudders under the strike of his feet, you knew.

He is a king you’ll worship until the end of your days, and by gods no one will dare stop you.

 

_He’ll never quit._

He has the heart of a lion and the teeth of a bear; those are the comparisons they would use on a hero, and he is a hero born.

They are fools to think he would ever give up under a strain, for he is stronger than he looks and he will complete what mission he has set his mind to.

But, with every punch to his body, to his bones and skin, with every cut of blade that brings blood to air, and you are already praying for his survival.

“Come on, Keith.”

 

_How many times are you gonna have to save me before this is over?_

He found you.

Again and again.

And he tells you even death wouldn’t stop him.

 

_I’m proud of you._

What he does puts your accomplishments to shame. What he promises to the universe is so much more than you could ever imagine, because he is a hero he refuses to see, and he is the one who makes the warmth in your chest expand and grow.

The kid who came from a shack with no parents to care for him grew into a man with a heart, a man who would have easily fallen into the dark abyss of losing one’s aim and yet, he rises. He rises pass what criticism aims at his way, he overlooks them all to follow your wishes.

You damn well should be proud. Not everyone could turn a deaf ear against the cruel words of reality, not even you.

 

 _It’s an honour to meet you._  

Beauty has no bounds, and the fact that he inherits this from his mother shouldn’t be as surprising as it should. But here it is, presented to you in the face of a galra who has the same chin and eye shape as her son as she shakes your hand, firm and knowing.

“Keith has told me all about you,” and you’re grinning because has he? For the whole time the two of you have been separated, he has told his mother, someone he has been looking for a long time and thinks highly of, about you?

She must have seen your ecstasy, because she has the glint in her eyes again and you know you’re far too gone to hide it now.

 

_You have changed._

When you finally turn to him, your heart jumps to your throat at how he smiles so proudly at you.

You’re holding yourself in place, smiling back, but you want to reach out and run your fingers across the expand of his chest and the length of his hair, you want to hold his cheek and gaze into his eyes for a very long time because you miss him, and from the way he stands beside you, he misses you too.

He’s older, he claims, two years spent with his mother on a moving animal where time is demented and nonsensical. They have a large dog, maybe a wolf, and they’ve caught up what they missed from before.

You’re part of that ‘caught up’ apparently, and that makes you stutter a bit because he’s so handsome and the smile is blinding enough for you to lose composure.

He knows this, because he grins a bit wider and his mother almost copies him.

 

_I died._

You tell him this after he screams your name, Kolivan’s words ringing in your ears.

If there would ever be a gadget that could erase someone’s pain, you would have beg for him to use it because the only reason he’s like this is because you made it so. You are the tyrant who makes him suffer, you are the only person who he would cross what destruction you laid down and put the River Styx in laughable shame. The titans would applaud you for your crafty ideas and make you watch him get to you with fire in his steps. Shame, they would coo, another honourable hero perished.

You refuse to let him die under your hand, and you tell him their tale. You tell him the galaxy’s secrets.

He listens, and he takes action.

 

_Keith._

You love him, you love him but you tried to kill him and he cut off your arm.

Which Greek tragedy is this? Icarus? Achilles? Heracles?

No. It’s Shiro and Keith.

 

_You found me._

He did. He found you again, he found you and held you in his arms with a smile on his face with the people he loves around him. He found you again after all the promises he made beforehand, he found you and made sure you come back for good and you would never leave him again.

He found you and let you rest, he found you and let you breathe.

 


End file.
